May 8, 2008

Ya’ll. We have a son. A 2 year old son.

FOR REAL! AAAAHHHH!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

We got the call this afternoon at 1:30 and then proceeded to NOT get his pictures until 5:30. Okay, and you all know me. You can imagine what those 4 hours were like for me. And everyone within a 1 mile vicinity of me. I was losing. my. mind. I HAD to see his face. BRING ME HIS FACE!!!!!

But people. It was worth it. OOOHHHHH so worth it. We saw that face and now we are forever in love with that face.

He has HUGE brown eyes, big beautiful lips, big cheeks and the sweetest, most kissable face there ever was. We are smitten with his pouty, lovable face.

The story of the call to come soon. It’s good stuff. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed, my craziness was in full effect, an all time high, really. I was startling even myself.

BUT YA’LL WE HAVE A SON!!!!!

Love,

Mike, Jamie, Delaney and SIYUM

And PS. Chan was on the money. She guessed May 8th!

May 5, 2008

Apparently, this wait is making me a bit delusional because I’ve done something entirely crazy and inappropriate.

I’ve registered for school. I’m going back to school. I’m gettin me an edumacation. Fancy that.

But Jamie. You are adopting a child, you will soon have TWO disease-spreading, grimey, loud-mouthed short stacks running around your house and through your head, screaming banshee-like chants that will leave your brain feeling like mush by about 10 am every day. Do you not realize that your brain can barely press play on the tivo at night, let alone study algorithms and juxtaposed sentences?

Well, there is that.

I plan to counteract this decay of my brain by drinking lots of Tahitian Noni Juice and forcing myself, in all my snot-streaked glory, to the classroom whereupon which I will staple my eyelids open and slip a smart girl a 20 for her notes. (Was Tahitian Noni Juice all the rage where you lived too? Cure cancer, liver disease, flat feet and a lazy eye…. ringing a bell? Well, let me tell you, it was quite the miracle potion here in Mormon-land for a long time, maybe it still is, I’m out of the loop these days).

The thing is, I finally have the motivation and drive to go back to school. So I’m going with it. Because who knows when this feeling, this feeling of optimism, ideal and positive outlook, who knows when this will hit me again. I feel smart right now, like I could be smart, like there is this possibility of being smart. And I feel ready. I figure I best do something rash like enroll in school before my body (or my mind, whichever is playing this awful trick on me) realizes what has happened.

Plus, now that Mike is done (next week) I’m thinking it’s HIS turn to put MY arse through school. That’s what I’m talking about. MMmmm-hmmmm.

It’s not that I didn’t want an education before, I enjoy learning and of course I wanted a degree, I just didn’t know what in. What did I want to study? I was petrified that I would either A. waste my time studying something I would eventually loathe or B. waste my time studying something that would turn into ZERO job opportunities for me. Which is maybe why I avoided the whole inner-mind altercation and did things like enroll in 20 dance classes my first year of college.

So when I started this quest a couple months ago, I explored all options. What did I want to do. What were my options. What could I see myself doing. And I asked friends and family these questions as well. I got all kinds of responses back. Be a Nurse. A Wedding Planner. Be a Dental Hygienist. Get a Business Degree. Be a Flight Attendant. A Politician. A French Teacher. All of which I really put thought to and strongly considered. These and many more. I think my problem was that I could see myself doing any of these things, in fact, I would switch professions every year if I could! Be a Sheepherder for a year and then pack it in and be a Researcher for the next.

But then I watched Oprah, that job intervention show and realized I was thinking about it all wrong. I needed to be thinking about what my strengths were, what I was good at, and what I enjoyed doing.

That’s when I stumbled on the Journalism section of the catalog and realized that every single class offered within the program was a class I would LOVE to take. And that’s how I knew this was what I wanted to study. FINALLY. Journalism, who knew? Sheez.

So, I’m off and away to conjure up the courage to walk amongst 19 year olds and fight for parking. Buy notebooks and pens that say GO BRONCOS! Spend a disgustingly large amount of money on books and feel tired, even more tired, all the time. To take tests when I don’t want to and do assignments I don’t want to. To suck up to Teachers and pretend I don’t want to stab other students in the eye with that new Broncos pen. Oh the joy. But I’m ready.

Wish me luck. Here’s to studying Journalism.

And then I was kind of sort of thinking of trying for Law School after that. The End.

May 2, 2008

You guys are so great. I love the internet. Who knew blogging could be this AWESOME? I’ll tell you, Al Gore did, that’s who. Let’s all have a moment of silence for Al. Thank you Al for the internet, for giving me the opportunity to blog and make internet BFF’s like I have.

Thank you for the concern and encouragement and comments on my last post. Everyone, except Anonymous, was so fantastic and sweet. Y’all are my Holla-back-girls.

The end of No Pants Day is nearing it’s end, I’m afraid, and we have not heard from our agency with news of a new battle station kid. It looks as though our wait will continue into next week. Whoever put their money on Julie totally lost. Which, people, it’s your fault if you placed money on a woman who painted her house purple. I can’t help you there.

This week has been an exciting week though, being on alert like this. I feel so special. Like I’m on call to save the world, like my heightened level of security and alertness is crucial to the well-being of all living organisms somehow. I don’t know. It’s a weird sense of being. Knowing that this phone call, one that will change our lives forever, is coming at any moment, it’s making me jittery and shaky and sweaty. It’s like the feeling of knowing a referral is coming so soon and the feeling of being off heroine for 3 days, they are one in the same.

Anonymous is probably thinking “I KNEW she was a Heroine addict” right now. For the record, that was a joke, I’m not a Heroine addict.

And I’d like to end my post on that note.

Hoping for good news soon. Thanks again ya’ll. It’s nice to be on this roller-coaster together.

Jamie

April 28, 2008

Okay. A lot to catch up on. I’ll be quick and summarize.

We are no longer requesting siblings. For a variety of reasons, one being that Mike has ALWAYS wanted to just do one at a time and I have always been the one to be like “NO! Let’s adopt SIX at a time! C’mon!” and another reason being that we are tired of waiting and Delaney is ready for a sibling. Like, NOW.

So, we changed our request to a single child, either gender, between the ages of 12 months and 2.5 years. We changed this on Friday.

AND I THINK WE HAVE A SON. A 2 year old son.

Our agency sends out a weekly update to all the families on the waiting lists and it shows the referral activity of children so far each month. Well today’s showed a 2 year old little boy that went to a family that waited 10 months (WE have waited 10 months) and I think that little boy is ours. Our Social Worker would be the one to call with the referral and she leaves at 3:00 every day, meaning I think she left the office before our referral was ready and that’s why she hasn’t called.

So, I’m freaking out. And I don’t think we will know anything for sure until the morning. But I’m 70%, no 80%, probably 90% sure that we have a 2 year old son.

95%

But maybe not.

But maybe so.

I think so.

But it could not be so.

I’m freaking out.

Jamie

Edited to add: FALSE ALARM. Another family, who ALSO waited 10 months and ALSO changed their request at the exact SAME time as us got that referral. So false alarm. But I love that my agency called me at 7:00 pm to let me know the situation so I could stop freaking out. I love my agency. Stay tuned, though, because we really are the next family on the toddler list now and should have good news very soon. I’m sorry I yelled at you all.

April 26, 2008

I’m going to go ahead and assume that these same friends of mine that RAN in front of EVERY camera and shamelessly posed like the paparazzi-hounded celebrities that we are, are also the same friends that won’t mind if I post some of the photos on my mommy-blog. The fans, OUR fans, have spoken, ladies. It’s hard, sometimes, being in the spotlight like this, but we knew this was part of the deal when we agreed to be superstars over the weekend.

So without further adieu, I give you “Why Not Post Vegas Girls Weekend Photos On My Mommy-Blog?! SURE!”

Starting things off, remember we DROVE the ten hours down. And back. Which, was pretty fun. Driving down we have the anticipation and excitement of leaving and drive back we have our deliriousness and sheer exhaustion to keep us amused. Amused, as in, every little single thing is the funniest thing to happen in the history of funny things happening.

Take for example, Erica’s GPS system that she (thankfully) brought that would either A. Tell us the WRONG DIRECTIONS WITH OUT FAIL every single time or would B. simply remind us, TAUNT us really, of exactly how much farther we had to go. “Continue another 385 miles” “Continue another 375 miles” “Continue another 365 miles” like that. The latter you actually got used to believe it or not after an hour or so into the drive, but the giving of the wrong directions? I mean…. really? You want me to turn around, DO A U-TURN, right here, in the middle of the freeway on-ramp. You can see how this situation would never lose it’s charm. Especially since we knew we couldn’t turn it off and throw it out the window what with Erica and her blatant demands that we USE HER EXPENSIVE PRESENT FROM HER HUSBAND! IT WAS EXPENSIVE! WE’RE USING IT! And so we did. Which, really, brought the van total to eight loud-mouthed opinionated females instead of seven.

After driving through the night and crashing at our friend’s house for a couple hours, we awoke and rose, like angels, to scrap our way over to the pool, to cling onto SUNLIGHT! ACTUAL RAYS OF SUN! And silly us, we thought we’d be able to sleep there, at the pool, the outdoor DISCO DANCE PARTY that it is.

We got in our groove though. Actually, we are all suckers for a good mix, since believe it or not, Boise Idaho, not on the map for world famous DJ’s. The music was fun, the sun was magnificent, the water was amazing, it was perfection. This is a picture of my sister Audrey and I. True or False: Audrey’s Father was an Eskimo. OR True or False: I was tanning like skin cancer was going out of style. You be the judge.

This picture I love because it’s of me and Erica TOTALLY STARING at this group of people that were there. Jaws dropped, not blinking, not even TRYING not to stare. Because the group of people, they were all backup dancers and dancers from the show So You Think You Can Dance! MY SHOW! MINE! MY SHOW! They were all dancing there at the pool, like it was a private show just for me and my undying love for them. I LOVED it, they were completely showing off and shoving it in everyone’s faces that no one there would ever be as cool as them. It was awesome. And then my friends had to hold my arms back and push my face under the water a few times. It was for the best, to stop my vagrant attempts to go lick all their faces. Just to taste their dancer beads of sweat.

Who loves themself?!

Next up, we started getting ready, at like 3 o’clock in the afternoon, for our first night of hitting the town. You can imagine all 7 of us girls getting ready together, picking outfits, doing hair…. it was total mayhem. And several of us were victims of “sudden involuntary hairspray attacks”. But it worked. And we looked fabulous.

And so it began.

I love this picture because it so clearly displays the total culture shock we are always in on the first night. Michelle even has her hand on her cheek as if to say “Oh my” and Nichole is coping by laughing, sometimes that’s all you can do.

But don’t be fooled. We worked it out.

Yes. We worked it out. With a little help from our friend, our little friend, we like to call THE BEAT. I think in literally every picture we have, we are screaming the words to the songs, just like our kids do in the car. I’m sure the people in the booth next to ours were like “Cool. You know the words. Guess what. WE ALL DO. It’s JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE morons.” But we didn’t care. There will always be people trying to rain on your Justin Timberlake parade.

These photos were from LAX, but we moved the dance fest over to a place called Tryst, where our pal Floyd Mayweather stopped by. Hey Floyd!

We’re BFF’s.

That concluded our first night. SO MUCH FUN. Fast forward through a few more hours of sleep, another day at the pool, another schmorgasborg of curling irons and hairspray and VOILA! Second night!

Whoa Nelly. Welcome to The Bank. That was the name of this place and it was madness. But, a few elbows throws here and there and before you knew it, we had created our own dance floor domain. Upon which we danced with each other for, oh, I don’t know, SEVEN HOURS STRAIGHT.

Dance dance dance dance dance

Sleep sleep, pool pool, hairspray hairspray in the eyes… well look at that it’s already the third and last night. Time flies when you can’t feel your toes anymore!

We amped up the glam and headed out to Jet, a really really really fun place. The music at this one was the best, throw in a little Prince, a little Madonna and you’ve got 7 happy girls.

You’ll notice the camera angle is slightly below us. This is because we were up on the ledge above our table. Just like our kids want to do at every restaurant we go to. We’re such hypocrites.

And there’s me, at one with the music. At one with Vegas.

And that’s a wrap. As usual, we are all still recuperating, our feet are still recuperating, even still, one week later. And we probably won’t be ready again for another 11 months. But dang we had a good time!

April 22, 2008

I used 5 heaping handfuls of conditioner and half a bottle of leave in treatment and STILL managed to pull out a pounds worth of my product-saturated hair. I measured the hairball. And after I measured the hairball, I grabbed a hatchet and chopped off my feet. Because I KNEW THEY WOULD FEEL BETTER ONCE I DID.

I’m back from Vegas ya’ll!

More later.

April 16, 2008

In T minus 2 hours, I am leaving. Leaving this life behind me. Never to be heard from again.

At least for the weekend.

I’m off on my annual girls trip to Vegas.

4 days of sleeping by the pool, talking with my girls and dancing our HEARTS OUT on the dance floor. Dancing for our LIIIIIIVES. Only those of you who obsess over shows like “So You Think You Can Dance” and “Step It Up And Dance” will understand the need to, once a year, dance till your guts can’t dance anymore. It’s a once a year dance binge that former dancers, like myself, use to satisfy our un-quenchable desire to be SUPERSTARS! again, just for the weekend.

A weekend free of brown-streaked Ariel panties, stepping on toy cars and listening to Disney soundtracks on repeat until the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. It’s awe-inspiring. Not that I won’t miss the little monster, I will, but I sure as heckfire won’t miss the responsibility. It’s funny and may not be true in all cases, but for me, going on these weekends, it makes me a better Mom and Wife. I come back and appreciate what a nice little life I’ve created for myself, how RADICAL my husband and kid are and how relieved I am to not be single. Because the MEAT MARKET that it is down there? Gag me with a spoon.

This trip will be especially amazing because there are SEVEN of us going this time, all of us having known each other since 6th grade, all of us happily married with kids and all of ready to party it up with our dance party posse. And all of us piling into the Blue Steel for the 10 hour trek down there. One that will, no doubt, have not ONE MILLISECOND of quiet. And those conversations, their what I remember most, what I love the most and what makes me feel like the SUPERSTAR! that I am. When not cleaning poo streaks off Ariel panties.

Peace out! See you next week! Get lots of referrals while I’m gone!

April 14, 2008

Since moving to our new house, the one where I give directions by telling people “You can’t miss it, it’s the one that looks like all the others”, we have gotten to know our next door neighbors pretty well, probably because I sometimes get confused and pull into their driveway, thinking it was mine, silly me. They have 2 little kids and Delaney sits perfectly right between them in age.

Being the only child that she is, Delaney has latched onto these children like a newborn to the boob. Not a day goes by, not an HOUR goes by, that she doesn’t PLEAD for me to let her play with these kids.

Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful for the distraction and the play dates that occupy her time. And I’m happy to know that their parents are nice and normal, potential perfect neighbor material. We have had freakishly inappropriate neighbors before and so this change, it is good. I am also proud of Delaney for making friends. After watching her watch the neighbor kids through the holes in the fence, longing to play with them, for weeks, I am happy it has all worked out swimmingly in her little world. By the way, the Dude next door was all “Hey, we see your daughter’s eye peering through the fence all the time, it’s pretty funny” and Mike goes “Well, sometimes, that’s me.”

And it was really quiet.

And then they laughed.

With all the sarcasm that’s flowing around the battle station here, you might be surprised to know that we do, in fact, care what people think about us, we like to keep up appearances just as much as the Jones’. So, it was important to us that we try to control our daughter and her rabid attempts to suck the faces off of the neighbor kids.

We started off small, baby steps, having the kids over for an hour at a time and then sending Delaney over for an hour at a time over the span of 6-7 days we did this. But things started getting sketchy when Delaney decided she’d had enough of the rationed-out new-BFF-interactions.

The other day, I hear her doing her usual thing, playing, pretending, tormenting the dog in the backyard when all of a sudden, I realize I haven’t heard her. For like 10 minutes I hadn’t heard her. The backyard yielded nothing but cinderella crowns and a stick collection, then I turned the corner to see the gate wide open and knew she had escaped. Sure enough she was over at the neighbors.

I don’t know what was more embarrassing, that I didn’t know my child’s whereabouts for 10 minutes or that my neighbors thought I had sent my 4 year old over, unaccompanied, without a pre-cursor phone call. A tad mortifying, to say the least.

And then?

Like a moth to the flame, she does it again, 2 mornings later. I was at work but apparently, Mike said he awoke to the doorbell and our neighbor accompanying our sleepy eyed, bed-headed child swaddled in a living room throw blanket back to our house. Which, I have to commend her for thinking ahead and shielding herself from the bitter morning dew for her long trek across the front yard, A+ for preparation Delaney, A+.

But ya, the new neighbor first impression bit couldn’t be going any better, if you ask me!

Oh Hey again! Sorry my child so desperately wants to live at your house instead of ours! And clearly you see that our word is LAW around here because that talking to she got the other day for running away and not telling us? It CLEARLY instilled the fear of God into her.

So, here we were feeling like we’ve risen to the top of our parenting game, like our neighbors must think we are total schmucks, why else would a child rise in the morning and immediately plan her escape?

But lo and behold. All’s well that ends well. The universe smiled on us, because the younger of the two neighbor kids? Totally pooped her pants at our house today.

YES!

And that, my friends, is how you become pals with your neighbors here in the Wild West. You gotta settle the score, even things out. Our neighbors, you see, want to be friends with us, wanted us to know everything was okay, so they sent over their kid to shat her pants in our playroom. That’s how it works. It’s a natural progression. So now when one of THEIR kids does something embarrassing again, we’ve already talked about it, to keep the friendship going, we’re going to send Delaney over with a picture of Mike’s nipples.